


forlornness

by Breanna_Song



Series: maladjusted [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Dirk and Hal are twins, Hal is human, M/M, Sick Fic, alpha rose is d's sister and roxy is her daughter, d is only mentioned again, dave is a foster kid that d adopted, dirk's sad, puppet mention, u should pros read consternation before this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 20:20:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breanna_Song/pseuds/Breanna_Song
Summary: he could sit in place for hours,doing nothing, but thinking of everythingand crying over something





	forlornness

he ties his hair up, the long strands would get in the way if he didn’t and suffocate him in this steaming, overwhelming heat, and it’s not worth it to gel it into slick spikes. he says it’s not worth it but he means he doesn’t have the motivation, he defends this by pointing out he’s not going anywhere today, it’s rebunked because he hasn’t gone anywhere in weeks. college doesn’t count, since it’s mostly online and rarely in person. he chose to do it that way for a reason.

he pricks his finger on the needle, and brings his hand up to his mouth to suck the small bleeding wound, his tired eyes focusing on the soft fabric that he picked out by imagining it was one of d’s suits. it’s a heavy red, soaked deep in the fibers, the end to a sunset or the start of a fading rainbow. he lowers his hand and picks up the small, sharp needle again, holding it steady to make another incision. he’s almost done with this puppet, it’s button eyes staring lifelessly at nothing, and he’s never related to one of his creations more than that.

“dirk?” 

slowly, he looks up, and sees his younger brother hesitantly standing in the open doorway that wasn’t open before. he’s not surprised he didn’t notice him before, because dave’s voice may carry throughout the hallways but his movements are entirely silent and there’s no way to predict where he is unless you call out his name. “yes?” he answers, frozen with the needle partly through the cloth.

dave shifts and puts his hands in his pockets, a movement that was clearly thought through, and tilts his head carefully to the side, he’s chewing bubble gum, “hal’s sick an’ i dunno where the meds are. he’s claimin’ he’s fine, but he’s puked twice now, plus he feels hot and gross an’ looks like someone with a motorhome accidently ran him over and now he’s a dead raccoon with its guts in two separate places.” he makes a note to tell his twin that because he isn’t going to be so happy with the comparison, and puts the puppet down in front of him, preparing to come back to it to finish it's stitching. 

this small movement causes dave to freeze in place, and dirk feels the rush of guilt pour down onto him for making the unwelcome item. he should’ve known better, he’s always noticed how dave got tense around the wooden puppets strung up along the walls in hal’s room, why would fabric ones with realistic shapes be any different? dave’s childhood was hard, a rough cycle of a small child growing up in a bad home then thrown to the government for foster care then picked up by a director who’s more absent than not. it’s been almost two years and dave’s still not comfortable around anyone else but d, and surprisingly, d’s sister, and unsurprisingly, roxy. dirk should feel happy that dave came to him, but he’s not because he’s the only other person in the house besides the sick one.

“i can take care of him,” he says without thinking of the implications, trying not to stare because he doesn’t have his shades on, and dave nods, the only response he gets before his brother’s gone. that’s how most of the encounters are between them. short and dismissive and leaving dirk with a bad taste in his mouth. he takes a deep breath before scooting off of his comforting bed, crinkling the rainbow stars on the sheet as he does so. he turns his light off, the glow-in-the-dark stickers lighting up because he has blackout curtains since he hates the sun, he doesn’t know why he hasn’t taken those stickers down. his fan groans quietly in the background when he closes his door, the click it makes reminding him of the long night in the past where cold fingers slid and marked all over his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> ages;  
> dirk/hal: 16  
> dave: 15  
> roxy: 16


End file.
